Virgil

Book 2 of Virgil's Aeneid, which contains what is now the best known written account of the Laocoön story (2.199–227), significantly (and probably deliberately) diverges from earlier known versions. The Aeneidwas only composed circa 50 BCE, which is relatively late on in the history of Laocoön's appearances.

Virgil's adaptation of the story of Troy's fall reflects a trend in Roman expression, both in the visual arts and in literature, whereby images move simultaneously on two planes, those of the natural and the supernatural, or of the real and the imaginary. In line with this approach, he invests the Laocoön episode with a significantly greater symbolic value than in earlier Troy stories.

One of the crucial differences between previous versions of the story and Virgil's rendition is that Virgil places Laocoön centrally the events of Troy's fall. For writers of the extant earlier versions, Laocoön's misfortune was a sign of the fall of Troy, but that fate has already been sealed. In those versions, the decision to admit the wooden horse was not dependent on Laocoön's personal fate, which is tangential to the main push of events. By contrast, in Virgil, Laocoön's death, as the deciding factor in the Trojan's decision to admit the wooden horse, becomes instrumental in the city's destruction.

The events of the Laocoön episode in the Aeneid unfold as follows. In the debate over whether or not to admit the wooden horse into Troy, Laocoön (here Neptune's priest and in the process of preparing a bull for sacrifice to him) offers rational arguments to warn his fellow Trojans against such an action. He proves that the horse is hollow by hurling his spear against it: the Greek stratagem is about to be detected. At this point Sinon, a Greek, appears and pretends to betray his countrymen, and persuading the Trojan king, Priam, that the horse is an offering to Pallas Athena that will bring good fortune to the Trojans. While Priam hesitates over whether or not to admit the horse into the city of Troy, Pallas Athena sends two serpents from the sea, which begin to attack Laocoön's young sons. Laocoön hurries to their aid but is unable to save them. He too becomes entrapped in the deadly coils, and dies from their bites (his death becoming a parody of his intended sacrifice of the bull). The serpents come to rest at the feet of Athena's statue, signifying her involvement in the scene. Laocoön's death is interpreted by the gathered Trojans as confirmation of Sinon's words, and the horse is received into the city, precipitating the fall of Troy.

Virgil's chief contribution to the story of Troy's fall is that he renders it from the point of view of a defeated Trojan, Aeneas, rather than from the point of view of the triumphant Greeks. Through this, he enshrined the story in a larger pattern of events which lead to the foundation of Rome, and the flourishing of Aeneas's descendants for centuries after. Whilst Virgil did not necessarily invent this connection, as a result of using it the tragedy of the Laocoön episode was invested with a further symbolic qualit that offers hope for Aeneas and subsequent Romans. On the other hand, Laocoön's death also represents the death of the old world order: both father and sons are slain: the line of his descent is cut short, and must be replaced by new blood.

Virgil's retelling of the story of Troy's fall highlights its political significance and promotes an concept of nationhood—of patriotism and national pride—based on ideas of nobility of descent, nobility of intent, fortitude in adverse circumstances, and the conviction of being the gods' chosen race. This aim is demonstrated in the well-documented way in which Virgil treats Aeneas. In Virgil's hands, Aeneas becomes 'a synthesis of many Roman qualities' and must be brought through the fall of Troy 'without the stigma of cowardice and inaction'.^[note] Aeneas was traditionally presented as one of the Trojans who betrayed their city to the Greeks. That Virgil chose to present him in a positive light is likely due to an extant link between Troy's fall and Rome's rise, and perhaps even an association between Aeneas and the Emperor Augustus.

The politics of the Aeneid extend further than simply praising the Roman Empire, however, and Laocoön's story forms part of a wider metaphor, which warns against the perils of a society that relaxes into ease and corruption. Rome was required to rise from the ashes of Troy; Aeneas is required to undergo terrific hardships before reaching his destined land. The suggested purification of Aeneas through trial and sacrifice is echoed in the human sacrifice of Laocoön and his sons, and in the burning of Troy. Rome, Virgil implies, must look to itself to see that it does not become similarly corrupted, and be in need of similar purification.

In Virgil, Laocoön's tragedy is no longer (only) a personal one. While the passage in Book 2 is vivid, there is little to involve us with Laocoön as an individual. We learn nothing of Laocoön's martial status, and Virgil relates no crime for which he might being punished. Virgil appears to distance Laocoön from earlier versions of events by making him the priest of Neptune rather than Apollo, and by associating the serpents with Minerva/Athena (to whose temple they retreat).

One reading of these changes is that Virgil meant to dissociate Laocoön's individual actions as priest from his place in the gods' plan for Troy: he is killed because he opposes the will of the gods, and because a priest being killed on his own altar is a particularly potent image. In this reading, Laocoön is the voice of reason that is ignored by people whose decisions are founded on emotions (their reactions to Sinon's tale of woe and the serpents' attack), who dies for a 'greater' cause that is yet to be realised.

The twefth-century commentator on Virgil, Servius, provided an alternative interpretation, based on assumptions about knowledge about Laocoön that Virgil's contemporaries would have taken into their reading on the Aeneid.

Although Virgil's version of Laocoön's story has now more or less supplanted earlier versions, it did not do so immediately. This can be seen through a comparison with the most well-known Laocoön image in the visual arts, the ancient sculpture housed in the Vatican Museums (discussion to follow).

Note. Arthur M. Young, Troy and Her Legend (1948; Westport, Connecticut: Greenwood Press, 1971), p. 41. [back to text]